


Dark and stormy night

by skriftlig



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skriftlig/pseuds/skriftlig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This year, all employees attending The Ministry's Halloween Ball have to wear charmed costumes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark and stormy night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for enchanted_jae for the Halloween fest at hd_owlpost using her prompts _Halloween costume_ and _it was a dark and stormy night_!

It was a dark and stormy night... at least for Harry. The idiots planning the Halloween Ball had decided that Ministry employees weren't capable of dressing themselves and had insisted on using Charmed Costumes. Thus Harry found himself in a grand ballroom, complete with floating pumpkins and glittering bats, standing beneath a black cloud pouring with rain while ferocious winds blew around him.

“Mate, it's not that bad,” Ron tried.

Harry glared at him. It didn't help his mood that Ron had been transformed into a handsome vampire; his freckles had faded and his hair was darker and slicked back. In contrast to the thick travelling cloak that Harry had been forced to wrap around himself, Ron wore a fancy long black cloak lined with red silk with a high collar.

“At least you get out of danc- ouch!”

Harry snorted as Ron rubbed his lip where the fangs had caught it, but the sound was covered by a thunderclap over his head.

“What's Hermione, anyway?” Harry asked.

“Dunno.” He glanced at the grandfather clock at the end of the room. “But I said I'd meet her by the bar now...”

He looked at Harry, who waved him off.

“Tell her not to come near me unless she's dressed as a mermaid.”

Harry watched miserably as werewovles, banshees, skeletons and people in various other warm and dry costumes chatted and danced and enjoyed themselves. Finally, he decided he'd had enough. He turned on his heel with a flourish, hoping to spray water on as many people as possible, and stomped his way out of the ballroom.

He started up the corridor to a quieter room, but was accosted by the cleaning lady, who – clearly being from the Filch school of care-taking – threatened painful punishment if Harry didn't clear up the large trail of water he was leaving behind him. Annoyed, he stormed back the way he'd come and headed to the outside courtyard.

There were several large, white columns standing in the courtyard and between them were multiple pathways leading to different small gardens. Candles had been wrapped around each column, so that shadows were visible in the gardens beyond. In the very middle of the courtyard was an apple tree, sprouting what looked like toffee apples. Harry watched as a human-sized gnome picked one off a branch, when someone came up beside him.

“You alright, Harry?”

Harry recognised Neville's voice, even if all he could see of him were two triangular eyes in a wall of orange.

“Hey, Neville. Nice pumpkin.”

“I know.” To Harry's surprise Neville sounded rather enthusiastic about his costume. “I know pumpkin seeds are used in growth potions, but I never understood why they needed to be crushed before. But I figured out that crushing them is the only way to keep their active ingredient. If you just grind them up, they lose all their useful properties.”

“Erm.. right. Well, I'm glad to hear that Ministry events are educational as well as entertaining.”

Harry watched, alarmed, as part of the pumpkin skin slid away to reveal a huge glowing semi-circle below the eyes. He supposed Neville was smiling.

“I didn't know you were coming to this, anyway. Or do Hogwarts professors get automatic invitations?”

Neville shifted his feet and the pumpkin rocked dangerously.

“Well, Hannah works for the International Cooperation department and she sort of invited me.”

“Hannah? Hannah Abbott?”

Neville smiled again, and the pumpkin looked so happy that Harry couldn't help but smile in return.

“That's great, Neville. I'm really pleased for you.” He slapped Neville as far round the pumpkin as he could reach. But the moment he touched the rough skin, a bolt of lightening flashed down and scorched the orange flesh. The smell of roasted pumpkin wafted around them.

Neville edged away as Harry sighed.

“I'm sorry, Neville. It's this bloody costume.” He gestured back to he ballroom. “Go back inside, I'm sure Hannah is waiting.”

He watched Neville bounce away before heading to one of the empty gardens. He walked down the pathway before turning back and casting a quick Repelling Charm between the two columns. The path was sandwiched between two high hedges, but soon opened up into a square rose garden. A stone fountain stood in the centre of the garden.

Feeling reckless, Harry waded into the water and tried to pull himself up onto the top of the fountain. It took him a good few attempts before he managed it, as his numb hands kept slipping on the stone. In the end, he half climbed, half levitated himself up, and he ended up landing flat on his back as the wind blew him in the wrong direction. Eventually, Harry lay down on the edge of the upper part of the fountain, letting the water wash over his already soaked clothes and fall into the pool below. He wondered what the compensation would be from The Ministry if he were to freeze to death out here. He should ask Hermione – she would know. The night was clear, apart from the black cloud right above his head of course, and he could see stars dotted about the deep blue sky.

“None of the Harry Potter Fan Club are willing to brave the storm, then?”

Harry jumped, toppling off the fountain and landing into the pool below. Swearing, he picked himself up and looked around angrily for the man who matched the voice. Draco Malfoy was standing a few feet away on the edge of the fountain, dressed in some sort of silvery-white suit. He shimmered in the moonlight, his pale skin and hair making him look almost ethereal. Harry rolled his eyes; of course Malfoy would get a costume that made him look even more beautiful.

Not wanting to go through the whole climbing fiasco again with Malfoy watching, Harry sat down on the ground. He let his legs rest in the water, feeling the water fill his ruined shoes. Malfoy moved forward to sit next to him and Harry noticed he was gliding.

“You're a ghost.”

“Brilliant. What part of your Auror training did you use to figure it out?”

Harry glared at him. “I guess it's an ideal costume for you. Now you don't have to touch anyone below your pure-blood standards.”

“I happen to like touching people, Potter. I'm not the one who hasn't had a relationship since leaving school.”

Harry opened his mouth, but, failing to come up with a retort, slammed it shut again. He practically heard Malfoy's smug smile next to him. It was true that he hadn't dated since Ginny, but he did not want to discuss that with Malfoy. Especially because every time a guy had asked him out, an inevitable comparison with the man sitting two feet away meant Harry always turned them down. Stubbornness, Hermione had called it. Stupidity has been Ron's preferred term.

Harry spelled the water to swirl roughly around his calves in frustration. He refused to think about how many relationships Malfoy had had since school. Clearly more than Harry.

“Well, this is fun,” Malfoy drawled.

“If you're looking for someone to talk to, find someone else.”

Harry was so fed up of talking; he talked at memorial services for those lost in the war, he talked to other Aurors about fighting Voldemort, he talked to Ministry officials who wanted to make him a poster boy for the organisation, and, more recently, he talked to Molly about 'finally settling down'.

“I have no intention of talking, Potter, and I'd be happy if you didn't either.” Malfoy paused for a few seconds as Harry glared at the side of his head. Even his eyelashes were silver. “You do know it's traditional at a ball to dance?”

“Yeah. I learnt that the hard way, thanks,” Harry snapped, thinking back to the awful Yule Ball at school.

He expected Malfoy to reply, to make some scathing comment about Harry's dancing abilities, but Malfoy stayed uncharacteristically silent. A muscle in Malfoy's cheek twitched and Harry noticed Malfoy's jaw was clamped shut. He was staring straight ahead and looked strangely angry. With a mix of panic and excitement, Harry realised he might have misunderstood Malfoy's meaning.

“Did you...” He cleared his throat. “Are you asking me to dance, Malfoy?”

“I'm offering you a chance to make up for that disaster you call a dance at the Yule Ball.”

A slow smile spread over Harry's numb lips.

“All right.”

Malfoy's grey eyes widened slightly as he turned to Harry, but he recovered his usual composure quickly.

“But you realise I come with my own personal climate?”

Malfoy laughed softly and Harry felt goosebumps spread over his arms – probably from sitting in the fountain for so long. Malfoy held a hand in front of Harry's face and Harry watched as the rain from his cloud fell straight through it.

“One of the benefits of being a ghost,” Malfoy said. He tilted his head to the side. “Actually probably the only benefit.”

“Ha! Don't complain to me about costumes. At least you're not risking getting hypothermia. I swear I can't feel my fingers.”

“I can't feel my anything. This has seriously put me off becoming a ghost.”

“You wanted to become a ghost?” Harry chuckled. “Right.”

“That was the plan, yeah,” said Malfoy, nodding solemnly. “I'd come back to haunt you and make your life miserable. But now I know how dull being a ghost is, I don't think I'll bother.”

Harry knew it was insane, and that Malfoy was probably joking anyway, but he couldn't help the rush of hope when Malfoy spoke. Harry Potter: his love life was so pathetic that being haunted counts as flirting.

Malfoy had swept to his feet, or at least, to an upright position – his feet were floating a few inches off the floor. Harry scrambled after him, quickly expelling the water from his shoes. They stood facing each other, and Malfoy just looked at him, making Harry wonder nervously if he was expected to do something.

But Malfoy moved closer to him and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, holding them as if they were resting on Harry's body.

“Is that too cold?”

“No. No, I'm pretty cold anyway. I can't feel the difference with this thing.” He nodded up at the rain cloud.

Malfoy nodded and waited as Harry slowly brought his hands up to Malfoy's waist. He held them there, not wanting to let them accidentally drop too low or move too far into Malfoy's incorporeal body. It should feel ridiculous; a half-drowned man dancing with a ghost – neither able to touch the other. But it was Draco Malfoy, and Harry would take any way of dancing with him that he could get. They started to move, Malfoy smoothly following Harry's lead. Harry took them in a slow circle of the fountain, his newly-water-logged shoes making quiet squelching sounds every time he shuffled his feet.

Malfoy's skin was flawless – a stark contrast to how Harry knew his own blotchy water-streaked face must look. He could feel clumps of his hair sticking to his head, but Malfoy's stood perfectly around his face, soft and waving slightly. Harry nearly groaned at not being able to touch it. For the first time that evening, Harry hated someone else's costume more than his own.

He saw Malfoy watching him curiously, and realised he'd just spent the last few minutes staring at Malfoy's face. He coughed.

“How about we hunt down whoever came up with this costume idea?”

Malfoy smiled and Harry had to stop himself collapsing. He looked almost painfully perfect.

“Sounds good. We should scare them to death – after all, it is Halloween. You bring your invisibility cloak and I'll bring my fool-proof Dementor outfit.”

Harry laughed. Fuck, it was unfair to learn that your long-time crush was actually funny as well as gorgeous.

They carried on dancing until Harry felt the weight of Malfoy's hands heavy on his shoulders. Soon, the rest of Malfoy's body materialised in Harry's arms. He didn't even stop to think; he leant forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy's. He was vaguely aware that his lips were no longer wet and he guessed that meant the cloud was gone, but he wouldn't have stopped if the cloud had become a snowstorm and gale force tornado.

Malfoy's mouth opened and Harry felt Malfoy's tongue run along his lower lip. He pulled Malfoy closer until he could feel the warmth from his body pressed up against his own chest. Harry moaned when he felt Malfoy's tongue in his mouth, twisting with his own, slow and sensual. Eventually, when the need for air became too much, they broke apart. Malfoy turned his head slightly so that his hot mouth kissed Harry's jaw. Harry leant his head against Malfoy's and felt Malfoy hum against his cheek.

Harry smiled. Kissing Draco Malfoy was worth a hundred dark and stormy nights.


End file.
